


The Un-Understandable Peace

by myrhymesarepurer



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrhymesarepurer/pseuds/myrhymesarepurer
Summary: It was understandable.It was understandable that every one of the team’s flatsout in the desert of Ishval were next to each other.Same block, same building, same floor,quite literally the next door over.It was all understandable until he knocked.“Hawkeye. Why is there a door in the middle of my living room?”





	The Un-Understandable Peace

**Author's Note:**

> a clinic. on how many times the words ‘reasonable,’ ‘certainly,’ ‘simply’ and ‘understandable’  
> can be used in one drabble. also, a mini break fic. Four coming soon, loves.

It was understandable.

It was understandable that every one of the team’s flats   
out in the desert of Ishval were next to each other.  
Same block, same building, same floor,   
quite literally the next door over.

It was certainly not _ideal_ , she knew.   
Riza Hawkeye valued her solitude, her space.

But, it was understandable.

Understandable due to the fact that the remains of the biggest town of the Ishval prefecture  
mostly consisted of little houses and little shacks lined into messy little neighborhoods.  
There were no apartments nor any houses suitable to rent, much less buy.  

There just wasn’t much real estate.   
So, the military had one built, a dorm,

a dorm for the handful of military officers working in the thick of the sand and sun.  
Somewhere to stay while they reported for duty, pushed their pencils and oversaw the resurrection  
of stable life in Ishval from the scorching discomfort of an old little school located in the heart of the biggest little city.

It certainly wasn’t anything fancy,   
understandably so.

One bedroom that included the kitchen,  
 one bath, and one modest closet   
all within walls made of smooth sandstone.   
  
Assuredly none of the oo’s of ah’s of shiny new city buildings   
made on a hefty private sector budget only miles away from major suppliers.

But, it was certainly functional and certainly understandable,   
that her new next door neighbors were the same people   
she spent every waking moment of the working day with.

Riza hummed at the thought.   
No, it wasn’t ideal at all.

But, it was _understandable._  
It was all understandable until,

there was a knock on  _the_  door.  

Riza wiped the sweat off her forehead, peeled off her military jacket,   
and cut open another box, fighting through the heat to unpack  
the very day she moved in.

That way she could be past it.   
That way she could be  _home._

Riza scrunched her nose knowing not even her meager flat in East City,   
much less her flat in Central, were even close to reaching   
such a status of comfort.

She was never quite sure what was missing.   
Black Hayate, she knew, had helped some.

But, Riza found that the rooms to which she returned simply to sleep   
after hours at the office, she could collectively call them her house,   
her flat, yes, but never her  _home._

It was a terribly cheesy sentiment, and dealing with such thoughts   
was not at all Riza’s strong suit. Yet, so thankfully, it was interrupted   
by the knock,   
the knock on  _the_ door.

Riza flipped her lock and opened it to the hall,   
yet in front of her stood absolutely no one at all.

Then there was the voice behind her,   
muffled, yet strikingly familiar.

“Wrong door, Captain.”

Riza then glanced over her shoulder to find another door  
that surely had no reason  _not_  to be noticed.

Yet, it was understandable that she hadn’t for Riza was certainly not _looking_  for a door  
in the middle of the shared wall of her new apartment, much less expected to see one.  
  
So, she was understandably surprised to flip open a different lock curiously  
not attached to her front door, turn the knob and reveal General Roy Mustang  
on the other side.

“Hawkeye,” he said her name carefully.

“Why is there a door in the middle of my living room?”

Technically, she thought, it was also   
in the middle of his bedroom,   
of his kitchen,   
of his entire apartment,  
a door opening straight into her own.

Riza blinked then surveyed the doorpost, for the existence of a door   
where this door currently stood, was certainly not understandable at all.

“I have not the slightest clue, General,”

Riza took pause, then hummed in diligent thought,   
“Would it be possible that every apartment has one, Sir?”

She, of course, could not think as to  _why_ one tenant would need   
direct access to another to the extent that it became a feature   
through out the complex as a whole. 

Riza tilted her head in disregard for that un-understandability, and thought the door  
might be a blessing in cases of break-in or emergency. If she suspected some dangerous something,  
she could get to the General very quickly, provided they kept the door unlocked or obtained a key of some kind.

Solely for safety, of course.   
That would be understandable.

But, Roy watched her think and swallowed tightly.   
_No_ , he knew. “Possibly,” he still said,

“Possibly, but probably not, no,”

One quick sly check into Havoc’s room   
across the hall confirmed Roy’s theory.   
  
He pointedly brought up the subject the following day during his telephone call with the Fuhrer.  
Within the updates and what not, he slipped in his query, assuming the Fuhrer had, indeed,  
glanced at the blueprint at least once, 

or perhaps,   
more than once.  

Roy was, indeed, correct.

“Solely for safety, of course,” Grumman said.

“Ah, I see” Roy said surely, hiding just a speck of skepticism,   
knowing, of course, that justifying the door with his safety  
was reasonable,  _prudent_  even, to be sure.  

“You are bound to have some enemies out there, Roy.   
I imagined your Captain would appreciate the ability   
to reach you in a moments notice.”

Roy nodded, scratching his head,   
the doubt understandably persistent.

It could have simply been true that the Fuhrer of Amestris chose to oversee, yes,  
an excessively minuet detail, in the name of protecting the leader of his forces out East,  
the security of the beginnings of the Reconstruction of Ishval.

However,

Though the Fuhrer he may be  _now_ ,   
Roy’s mentor he had  _always_  been,

the same mentor that had forever been quite dead set   
on hooking him up with his granddaughter,   
more or less for  _life._

Regardless of intention, the reality remained: that very granddaughter was now his next door neighbor,  
living in the apartment directly on the other side of this spontaneous special order of a doorway leading straight   
from his bedroom to hers.

It simply seemed entirely too convenient.

Of course, not to suggest Fuhrer Grumman was encouraging any inappropriate,  
much less any  _illegal_  behavior, but Roy still ruminated on how thoroughly he did enjoy  
any occasion Riza visited his previous flats for some overtime work,   
regardless of how much paperwork she had in tow. 

Having her closer was always a luxury,   
yet, understandably, did not come free of risk.  

“That’s very considerate of you, Sir. Thank you,”   
Roy responded graciously, yet _sighed_  understandably so.

“However, if anyone is to  _see_  the door   
and  _question_  the purity of its purpose-“

“Tell them they can telephone my secretary   
for an appointment, my boy, “Grumman grinned  
  
“Though, I may have conflicts on that day.” 

And, that seemed to be that.

The door connecting their apartments was for his own safety,  
as verified by the Fuhrer himself, and that  _was_  understandable.  

It would just stay closed,   
unlocked, but closed,

in case of emergency,   
solely for safety, of course.

Of course.

But,  _of course_ , either fortunately or unfortunately so,   
the door certainly did not stay that way,   
closed not at all.

And here and now, Riza Hawkeye, stepping out of a shower   
that was  _not_ her own, wondered how, why, and when   
she had so un-understandably   
crossed this line.

The shower in  _her_  apartment had been broken all week.   
So, it was certainly reasonable she used his.

He had then requested her assistance,   
as she  _was_  already  _there_ ,

in reviewing his rough draft of the procedure proposal   
for the establishment of an education department in the Ishvalan state.

It was due at Central in two weeks and was, by far, their biggest project yet,   
so it  _was_ certainly understandable she lend her aid, encourage his most   
new found lack of procrastination.

It was all very reasonable,   
Riza thought, understandably so.

Yet, it wasn’t the logic that troubled her, no.

It was the truth that once she left the little bathroom and its veil of steam,   
he would read through his proposal aloud. She would ensure the document’s clarity,  
verify its eloquence, and do so all while terribly  _exposed_  in her deteriorating discipline.

Riza paced the patch of carpet in front of his bed,   
biting her thumb nail in concentration, like she only ever had in private,  
dressed so comfortably in her little pajama set, its debut appearance   
to an audience outside of the pup sleeping in the corner.

She dried her hair with his spare towel,   
washed her face, brushed her teeth,   
even smoothed on a layer of moisturizer,  

all while  _claiming_  to be working,   
all while in front of her  _superior._

She simply didn’t seem to care,   
Riza struggled, it was as if she were-

She stumbled on the word,

 _home_.

Riza swallowed thickly, shook her head,   
caught up with Roy’s voice and focused on the logic.

The logic was no issue, no.

They never seemed ever free of deadlines to meet,   
reports to author, developments, construction, all to oversee.

This, of course, was the work they had been waiting for,   
and they threw themselves so very willingly into the fire.

It  _was_  exhausting, she could admit.

Yet, the General persistently accepted, even encouraged, her requests for overtime.  
Her productive little heart was spoiled to the uttermost by his compliance, of course,  
under one condition; they burn the midnight oil in the most comfortable fashion.

They did, in fact, have that door.   
Roy had shrugged, feigning nonchalance at the time.   
They could put it to good use. Quite reasonable, indeed.  

So, comfortable they were,   
and perhaps too comfortable she became.

For there was one particularly long night   
after one particularly arduous day   
she most understandably, yet still  _foolishly_  drifted off  
at the foot of his bed, expense reports, half finished, in hand.

 _Of course_ , Roy picked her up, tucked her under  _his_  covers and let her sleep there  
in  _his_  room under the pretense that the shorter distance was less likely  
to wake her from her much needed slumber.

It was,   
Riza was reluctant to admit,   
the best night of sleep she had ever gotten in that desert.

She woke up to a mop of black hair on the pillow next to her.   
Her stomach washed so un-understandably warm,

and Riza supposed that’s the moment, pinpointed it as the culprit,   
when she most shamefully began to falter,  
began to be baffled by her own behavior.

She so wished to blame it on the heat, on the blazing desert sun,   
but she knew there was a piece of her that melted   
after they all settled down in Ishval.

Yes, this piece had dwindled, but only because  
she had been so wonderfully warm,   
so very blissfully often.  

It was a curious feeling that accompanied the new door, it seemed.   
Gone were her defenses, a gooey puddle was left of her resolve.

Riza worried over her lip,   
at least for a moment every night.

It was so sloppy, so foolish,  
so very uncharacteristic,

so very  _dangerous_

It wasn’t illegal, no,   
this company that they kept.

But, neither did say a word about the imprudence of the thing, nor what precisely  
might their excuse be were they to get caught so perilously familiar with one another,  
consistently returning to such a place together.

Because, in no matter of time at all,  
Riza was working long nights most  _every_  night,   
fell asleep in his room most  _all_ the time, and soon enough

a toothbrush joined his at his sink, for convenience   
a set of spare pajamas lay tucked away in the second drawer, just in case,   
and  _her_  suite, only one door apart, was left clean and nearly wholly untouched.

For, _by chance_ , she had allowed herself   
this place, this comfort, this sanctuary

after she, for so long, never allowed   
herself nearly anything at all.   
  
The  _chance_. The reason  _why_  she returned.   
It was something she most certainly did not understand.

Perhaps, she might snap out of it.   
Oh, yes, she so hoped she might snap out of it,   
and  _soon._

Roy had stopped reading.   
Riza stopped pacing.

For a moment, she felt maybe he was reading her mind. If he was,  
she willed him to keep his opinions to himself, for his endorsement  
for the continuation of the generous amount of time she spent in his flat was,  
firstly, already thoroughly voiced,   
secondly, not helpful to her

in any capacity,   
whatsoever.

Then Riza blinked and felt the lazy fan on her legs,   
and realized Roy had taken pause, not to read her mind  
but to admire her  _shorts._

It had gotten too hot. They lived in the desert.   
She had chosen the shorts. It was reasonable,  
_understandable._

yet so terribly   
terribly  _unwise._

Roy had looked up at her,  _just once_ , from his place on the bed,   
lounging against the headboard, and well-

He never had the pleasure of seeing   
Riza’s legs nearly at all, much less  _like that._

Riza froze, most probably from her lack of clothing.   
She clutched the bridge of her nose,

“Is this going to be a problem, Sir?”

“Hm?”

His eyes met hers,   
though they certainly took their time.

“Should I return to my suite?”

Some small piece of her hoped he’d say  _yes._    
She felt she needed it to be an  _order._

Otherwise, she feared she might never leave,   
being so very delightfully, wonderfully toasty this way.  

That pesky feeling, unidentifiable.   
It was so very unreasonable,   
un-understandable.  

Roy, of course, did not  _oblige_  and suggest she need leave him   
nor the delightful, wonderful warmth that spread from her chest   
to the tips of her toes.

He did not even grant her the mercy   
of a  _definitive_ answer.

Roy just gave a lopsided grin, so very deliciously warm in itself.   
He cleared his throat for good measure and picked up where he left off.

Riza tried her very best to concentrate,   
bit her lip, bit her thumb, made suggestions.

It was in her subconscious that she was directed   
toward his freezer to scan for sweets.

Ice cream sandwiches,   
she grabbed two.  

Riza unwrapped her own carefully and took her place   
on the edge of the bed, knees folded under her.

Roy had stopped reading,  _again_. 

She lifted an eyebrow, opened her mouth to advise he appreciate   
her legs in a  _less_ overt manner before she grabbed her spare pistol   
underneath the pillow next to him.  

He beat her to it-

“I was just thinking,” he promised.   
“About, Sir?”

Roy stared at her still as she broke a small piece of her sandwich   
and popped it promptly into her mouth. He inched off his reading glasses.   
Riza cocked her head just so at his sudden somber.

“Have we ever existed like this?”   
Roy hummed, “had this  _peace_?”

She blinked,  
  
realizing perhaps he  _too_  had noticed. 

This most particularly pesky feeling,   
so alarmingly, uncomfortably comfortable.

 _Peace_ , Riza pondered. It was a peculiar word she had missed  
when attempting to identify that warmth from her head to her toes,   
every time she knocked,   
every time he opened that door,   
and invited her to make herself at  _home_.

_Home._

No, she did not feel that often,   
Riza could reluctantly admit.

“Not that I can recall, Sir.”  

Roy took pause,   
read his packet,   
flipped a page,   
and mumbled softly,

“Do we deserve it?”

Riza swallowed, her throat much narrower than seconds before.   
She picked at her sandwich and came to the definitive answer   
much too quickly.

“Probably not, no.”

Chocolate cookie stuck to her hands vexingly. Riza felt the need to move,   
refocus,  _rethink_ , before she became trapped in her endless world of regrets. 

She slipped off the bed for a napkin.

As if to catch her, as if she were to leave him,   
Roy called after her as calm as he could manage.  

“Would you be more comfortable somewhere else?”

It was a reasonable question,   
understandable, to be sure.

Riza picked the chocolate off her fingers,   
and bit at the inside of her cheek,   
knowing the real question

 _Should_  she more comfortable somewhere else?

Ah, this is where she so often got stuck and fled   
the thought rather than tread on such terrifying territory.

The gut answers were simple  
_yes,_  she  _should_ , yet  _no_ , she  _wouldn’t._

Riza shook off all the reasons  _why_ , with one   
shamefully beautiful little smirk of her own.

She shrugged,

“Probably not, no,”

parroting her previous response, a little joke with herself.   
Such silly humor so splendidly simple, so seldom shown,   
set aside for the moments when she was _Riza_ ,  
the moments when she was  _home._

Roy felt humbled to be a part of such a spectacular thing.

He grinned goofily, stretching his arms behind his head,  
“Oh? Sounds like you enjoy my company, Captain.”

Riza’s smirk fell into a cutting glare, warning him   
not to test her with that ego, not to push the point.

For, truthfully, she’d rather not venture further into the topic,   
because, most unfortunately so,   
he was right.

Riza plucked the second sandwich off the bed and threw it  
in his direction, perhaps more forcefully than necessary,

“I only prefer your dessert selection, General.”

Roy fumbled on the catch, dropped his arms, dropped his act.   
He gave an exasperated sigh as she took her place next to him,   
on the bed, lounging against the headboard.

Riza plucked the papers out of his lap,   
and shuffled to find where they left off.

Roy ripped open his ice cream   
and took a healthy bite.

They sat there in silence-

perhaps silence was much   
too heavy of a word.  

They sat there in  _peace_ ,

the quiet only broken when Roy tried sucking the chocolate   
off his fingers. Riza handed him the napkin at her side wordlessly.

Roy found himself lost in thought again,   
watching her read, resisting biting her nails.

His voice was lower, not  _serious,_    
but simply not cocksure confidence,

It was  _honest_  when   
he smiled at her.

_I only prefer your dessert selection._

“Only?”  

Roy huffed a light laugh.  
Riza blinked at the query.

He watched her cheeks dust pink as she fiddled   
momentarily with the corner of the pages,   
refusing to spare him a glance.

“Probably not,”

she felt warmth,   
understandably so.

“Probably not, no.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> send me your thoughts, I love them so.


End file.
